


Blood and Bone

by passeridae



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Scrimshander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 09:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19999834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passeridae/pseuds/passeridae
Summary: Dante had finally stopped writhing, his energy spent, so finally, finally Vergil could truly begin. He’d had Dante pinned, a spectral sword at each wrist and ankle, for almost half a day by now, and were he any less demon, he would have become impatient hours ago.(based on the prompt: Vergil does not look at anyone who does not deserve to be looked at.)





	Blood and Bone

Dante had finally stopped writhing, his energy spent, so finally, finally Vergil could truly begin. He’d had Dante pinned, a spectral sword at each wrist and ankle, for almost half a day by now, and were he any less demon, he would have become impatient hours ago.

But he couldn’t let haste ruin something as perfect as Dante. No, Dante required delicate handling. He watches from the corner of his eye as Dante’s most recent bout of struggles cease and he drops back to the floor, panting and pale. Vergil raises his glass to his lips, finishes the wine in it, then snaps his book shut. Anticipation curls low and warm in his belly and diffuses through his viscera. He stands for a moment, trailing his eyes from Dante’s head to his feet, basking in the sensation. Nobody but Dante can stir things so human in him, nobody else is worthy to. 

He drops to his knees over Dante’s thighs, still staring at Dante’s naked form. So often, people accuse him of not looking at them, but it’s really that he sees no point in looking at things that don’t deserve it. Dante, though, Dante deserves it and more. The man himself lolls his head so he’s looking back at Vergil and forces a cocky smile to his face, “Finally joining the party, hey Verg?” Vergil doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead traces a fingertip down Dante’s front from sternum to hipbone. A precursor of what’s to come. He looks Dante in the eye as he makes the first incision.

Despite the amount of time Dante has already been bled, he still finds it in him to arch away from, then into the pain as Vergil separates the skin of his chest. Dante’s chest heaves, he writhes weakly as Vergil pulls the flaps back and pins them to the floor as well. Like the butterflies he used to covet as a child. Precious, and pinned, and his. His tongue flicks over his lower lip, breath slowing as he focuses. No longer caught up in anticipation, his long practiced hunting instincts kick in. Of course, Dante does not require stalking this time. Next he severs the chest muscles, then the ribs. This is the hard part, if he wants the ribcage to remain in one piece, slicing through the cartilage bit by bit until he can crack that last protective barrier away from Dante’s true self.

Dante’s heart beats strong and solid, remarkably so given how much blood he’s lost. Vergil can’t help himself but to reach out and touch it, his vision tunnelling as he does. Rather than do something so gauche as grasp it, he runs one delicate fingertip along the planes of the muscle, letting it beat its own time. Vergil could rip it from Dante’s flesh — there’s nothing that could stop him from doing so. His only matched opponent has always been Dante. He could turn Dante into a Devil Arm, perhaps, or currency to be bartered away. He never would, but the potential is electric all the same. 

Dante is quiet, now, jaw clenched with pain, and the expression on his face is so lovely that Vergil can’t help but cup his jaw, smear his own heartblood across his cheek, commit this moment to memory. With Dante’s ribs curling around him, around them both, he feels the closest to his brother he ever has. Close enough to meld together into a single, whole being. He allows himself a moment to sit, and look his fill, to commit this sight to memory in case he’s never allowed it again.

But he does have a purpose here, other than just the chance to view his brother properly. Dante tenses once again when he scrapes the protective membrane off one of his ribs, then lies still as he begins to carve the appropriate sigils on the bone. Scrimshander is such a human pastime, but every so often it’s useful. In this case, it permits Vergil to place a marker on Dante such that he will always know where his brother is. Useful, though he’s eternally attracted to the idea of having his mark somewhere so internal, where nobody but the two of them will ever see it. He cannot resist adding his name, curling and cursive, one rib up.


End file.
